Disclaimer: This is writing practice. Second disclaimer: I wrote this to go with Week 1 of my Writing Excuses course. I wrote it by hand, because my computer is having issues, and that's why it's shorter. I'm not sure why it took me this long to post it. The writing prompt was the first sentence.
Barry knew his mumbling was going to get him killed someday. At one point, he had actually been banking on it, but so far his expectations had never been met. He was still coming to terms with it.
So he took to self-therapy, drawing stick figure renderings of his subconscious while sitting in the back room of his chilly house -- chilly because it was almost perpetually shaded by th high canyon walls on either side and because he purposefully kept the thermostat low out of habit. Whenever he wanted to warm up, Barry would shower. This meant he showered at least twice per day.
The town was also surprised he was not dead yet, in short. Barry had the misfortune of living in an
easygoing small town where his mumbling was shrugged off as an eccentricity and kids would sneak into his house on a dare to turn up the thermostat. No one who managed to catch a glimpse of his stick figure sketches thought much of them and the gossip did not go far beyond Barry possessing a deplorable amount of artistic skill.
When he finally did die (true to his lifelong supposition, his mumbling led to unfortunate carelessness near a cliff edge), with no will and his only unfinished business the frozen chicken on his counter that was as likely to thaw as it was to begin breathing, the town's mayor instituted a yard sale and auction of his worldly possessions.
Barry's porch looked like an art gallery, with dozens of rough sketches on all sorts of paper propped up against the siding, the porch swing, the railing, and the few easels the town owned. Most of the drawings were done with pen, none contained speech bubbles, and people only bought the ones they wanted to spare everyone the shock of seeing (this included, but was not limited to, Mrs. Halloweigh purchasing the sketch of a man urinating on Mr. George's dog).
The house itself was put up for sale, largely because no one in town needed a second house just a mile from their own (excepting, it would seem, Mrs. Halloweigh, who would visit it regularly to entertain Mr. George, and then always at dusk to be joined by him some time after).
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